Realm of the InterNutter

Thoughts, stories and ideas.

Drama Llama is moving in....

The dog somehow got into my car. He chewed the back seat. He chewed the driver’s seat belt. He didn’t get into anything else, thank goodness, but I’ve been packing death.

It could have put the kibosh on my travel plans.

Thanks to the blithe spirits, the insurance mob told me they’d spring for everything shy of $500. Ouch. But not so much ouch as total replacement would have cost sans insurance.

I need to pack summer stuff and I may be buying most of it in foreign lands, ‘cause everything over here is winter themed, now. Blarhhhh.

And I have to get special shoes just for the airport so I don’t track foreign greeblies into other countries, or track them back into here. I’m thinking Ballet Flat type shoes. At least the heels can’t fuck up my feet.

It’s them or some converse sandshoes.

I did get some hep shots. Last week. My shoulder is still effing tender. They weren’t kidding when they said there’d be soreness in the arm.

And in six months, I can do it all again so I’ll be protected for twenty years. Yay.

One more week of hobbling and I should be back on my feet. IF I can find some of those damn spur heel inserts in a ladies’ size ten, I should be able to walk around without too much further pain.

I might have to order them in. More $$$ down the drain.

On the plus side, I have a rental car for the week it should take for my car to get fixed. I just have to remember to not be paranoid about qualifyers. And be completely paranoid about locking the thing when everything that should be out of it is out of it. And do the same for my beloved zippy little car when it comes back home.

And a nice person from the RSPCA is going to come around for free and help us teach the hound not to chew the expensive things.

Now I can’t work on the adventure map 'cause I have to stake out the front door and the phone for the people who are supposed to come by and do things. Nargh.

D'aaaaaaaaauuuuuuggghhh!

Baby shower’s been cancelled, because the baby in question’s been born.

The Mum will still need my unpatented first Mum’s survival kit, so we’ll have to arrange to visit sometime RSN.

With, or without the frikkin’ sarong.

So now Mum-in-law has to rattle up here to get the paperwork to get it back to the friend so she can initial it and get it back to me so I can submit it and

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There goes the other shoe...

Drama Llama stopped by and handed me a little quote-unquote “gift”. Dramatically, of course.

The friend who verified my identity forgot to initial a correction on the form she filled out, verifying my identity.

I now have to wait for the weekend, attend a baby shower, and hand over a vital document so it can be initialled in the correct place and sent back to me.

Which now also means I have to gather up a First Mum’s

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One important lesson on economics from someone who's picked up on a few things...

Put basically: If they’re offering it to plebes like you, the bubble is about to burst.

There are numerous economic bubbles in past and present. The stock bubble. The internet bubble. The housing bubble. The quantum chocolate bubble. Okay, I just wish there was a quantum chocolate bubble…

The point is, bubbles are just like pyramid schemes. Sooner or later, they’re going to run out of people to sell it to and the whole shebang is going

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Good news, bad news

Good news: after faffing around for a fortnight, I finally know what the fuck is wrong with my foot.

Bad news: I have a spur. And it’s still going to hurt like fuck for two more weeks.

Worse news: If it’s still hurting after said two weeks, I need to see a podiatrist, which is going to co$$$$$t.

Good news: The clever people in the medical industry make shoe inserts for people with spurs.

Bad news: They&

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It's all shaping up.

It looks like everything’s coming together. Things are moving in the right direction.

So of course, I’m reacting to this good fortune by acting like a paranoiac under Damocles’ sword.

Waiting for the shoe to drop. Waiting for the next big disaster.

Waiting for, in this case, my birth certificate to turn up in the mail so I can complete my passport application and file that fucker.

…waiting for Godot.

No, not really. Just… living

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All's quiet...

TOO quiet, as they are won’t to say.

I haven’t had any dramas dropping into my lap, nor Drama Llama’s coming to stay. So far.

I reckon they’re saving themselves up for tomorrow.

What’s happening tomorrow, you may ask? Well, I plan on going out to get a passport photo taken. So I can take it to a friend on Sunday and get myself verified. I hope.

That’s when the

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As the Drama Flies: episode 2

As you may be aware from the previous episode, I have been invited to Thailand for a few weeks, and also begun the process towards getting a passport.

This involves getting hold of a registrar’s office official copy of my birth certificate and my marriage licence. Which means getting hold of the department of births, deaths and marriages.

Sure, you can get lots of information online, but you can’t order a copy of your own ID papers.

I

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As the Drama Flies...

I usually name my mythical soap operas _All My [NOUN]s_, mad-lib style. But my life is definitely As the Drama Flies. And believe me, it’s flying pretty damn low, right now.

Got some expensive and some not-so-expensive stuff to try and train the hound not to chew shit he shouldn’t chew. Neither of said stuff is waterproof.

Gave selfsame stuff to Hubby and Mostly Shiftless. It hasn’t been seen since.

It rained.

Dog decided to

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I'm assuming Anonymous already has plans...

I'm assuming Anonymous already has plans...

There’s an instruction manual containing words that can get anyone who uses them on a terrorist watch list just for using them online.

Lots of them can be used in completely innocent ways. For instance: telling all the folks in InternetLand all the words that you’re not allowed to use any more.

How long, folks, before there’s an online competition to use as many of these words as humanly possible

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89.8

That’s my weight, this morning. I’m finally down to sniffing distance of my target weight.

After my personal disaster cascade [see earlier posts about me tripping on a chair], I honestly believed I would be battling weight problems and increasing weight until such time as I could actually walk again.

What I forgot is that I would also be less inclined to get up and grab another snack.

Here’s my regime - or what passes for

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Feckin' entropy

It’s Friday. Five days into Sore Footsville. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The countertop is full of dirty dishes and filthy pots and pans.

Laundry is piling up again. Debris is starting to gather on the floor.

I am physically incapable of doing a damn thing about it.

Hubby and Shiftless are working late every night. The only person I can rely on to do anything is Mayhem.

Mayhem’s 10. He’d much rather be

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